


Tobacco Sunburst

by arcadevia



Series: Comfort Fics [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Lonely, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron), Touch-Starved Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadevia/pseuds/arcadevia
Summary: Sometimes, late at night, Keith wets his hands with sink water in the bathroom and touches his own face because it feels like another person.And sometimes, early in the morning, Lance stands at the floor to ceiling window near the observation deck and closes his eyes to cry.They miss touch.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Comfort Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065521
Comments: 20
Kudos: 331
Collections: Just some pretty nice fics





	Tobacco Sunburst

**Author's Note:**

> please listen to [tobacco sunburst](https://open.spotify.com/track/4pJEkzhZY84h8kmPkUhfwC?si=GkUoVx87SeOLJRd-LnK1Nw) and [pretty boy](https://open.spotify.com/track/6Q5mJdY0XcBLNVq9NLZuto?si=7Svo7TUlScW2BsW8YXpLfw) by the neighbourhood  
> —  
> Lance is sort of implied to be a southerner in this because why not  
> also changed the title, i’m indecisive hah

Sometimes, late at night, Keith wets his hands with sink water in the bathroom and touches his own face because it feels like another person.

Space is a lonely concept, the great big vastness of unknown and mystery, with humanity clinging onto their own memories for a sense of comfortable oblivion to it all. Because refusing to think about it makes it less real, or not real at all.

Keith realizes it’s real when his wet hands weren’t smearing dust off his face from dry desert winds, and rather meeting skin untouched by the human earth for long enough to feel numb after a phase of missing it all so dearly.

His face is loose, his lips curved into a relaxed pout and eyes soft even at their slanted edges. For the first time in a long time, he feels beautiful, because he’s part of the handful of all he has now when it comes to what they left behind on Earth. Their own kind.

The great vastness of space had become so lonely, that his grip on shared, comfortable oblivion had dwindled to wet hands on his cheeks.

Sometimes, early in the morning, Lance stands at the floor to ceiling window near the observation deck and closes his eyes to cry.

He imagines a sunrise, nothing short of beautiful when it turns the endless stretch of fields and meadows on the farm into a soft, colorful array that’s easy on his tired eyes. Birds chirp and flutter and make tree limbs quiver, livestock grazes away and the ground scrapes under their hooves, and gentle, feathery winds brush across his body before he huddles his blanket closer around him.

When he was younger, he’d curl up next to his mom on the hammock and revel in the tenderness that comes with being a child. He’s nurtured, and nothing is expected of him.

When he was older, bout sixteen or seventeen, his father would let him have a smoke once in a blue moon just for the hell of it. Maybe because there were expectations now and a break was due, maybe he needed to understand how a nasty stick of nicotine was one of the only things his daddy had that could kick off the last of his days.

Lance, as the youngest of the bunch, was living proof of time ticking away for his parents. The older he sees himself getting, the more he hates it.

He misses their touch, whether from warm sweatered arms or the brush of fingertips handing over the stick to what could’ve been a bad habit.

He misses their touch.

  
  


Keith forgot that bare touch wasn’t always cold until he was palm to palm with Lance at the dining table. Comparing hands sizes, or something along those lines, his chest just thrummed at the chance of gentle contact again.

Lance’s fingers are long and knobby, but his skin is smooth, especially the pads of his fingertips, which Keith discovered after barely sliding up the hand because his own fingers are mere millimeters below.

He wants to hold onto it all the time now. And eventually, he did, somehow after whatever excuses Lance could come up with. Apparently there’s at least five different ways to pop your knuckles, and only one sensible way to alleviate the ache when your teammate isn’t used to it.

Keith is the teammate, but he somehow found it weirdly endearing to have his hands treated like bubble wrap by Lance. The pain fell away from the frequency in routine, and his hands were gently soothed by soft massages between each joint and along his palm. It took three occasions until Keith braved his chances and wove their fingers together.

Lance smiled in the unintentional kind of charming way, where his mouth crooks up a little more on one side and his blue, _blue_ eyes haven’t crinkled quite yet.

He wants Lance to touch his face and replace the cold water.

  
  


Lance finds the sensation of warm sweatered arms again when he first curls against Keith during a team movie night. Originally, he meant for it to be annoying, like a dog continuously huddling closer and rocking the bed around before nuzzling down to sleep.

But Keith didn’t dump him off the couch, in fact, his reaction was all but annoyed and somehow Lance’s newer kind of antics were taken in stride. He set his share of popcorn aside after Lance swung himself over the back of the couch, then stretched his arm around to secure them together.

Lance even _licked_ him. Okay, not like, _actually_ licked him, but he’d poked his tongue against the other’s cheek just to further his point. Or— or something. Whatever, he likes being weird.

And yet, nothing, except for Keith taking the popcorn again and turning back just to push a piece between his lips.

But Lance just kept bugging him, making Keith give him more popcorn in the same manner to the point where Keith murmured “I shouldn’t have started this, huh.” And Lance nipped his finger.

“Ouch.”

Later, Keith turns back to him, fully, and huddles under the blanket before wrapping his other arm around Lance. “Tired,” is all he says.

“Okay,” Lance says back amusedly. “Go to sleep, darlin’.”

Apparently bugging Keith is very hard now, because the boy probably doesn’t know what’s genuine and what isn’t, but perhaps Lance wouldn’t know either even when it comes to his own actions. He just hums, then settles at Lance’s shoulder as his eyes finally flutter shut and all that’s left to look at are long dark lashes Lance has always been envious of.

He pretends to fall asleep when the movie is noticeably coming to an end, both to avoid confrontation and/or embarrassment from the team, and to prolong the time he spends in Keith’s sleepy embrace.

“Wait, where’s Lance?” he hears from Shiro, who likely can’t see him from where he’s hidden behind Keith.

“Uhh…” Pidge trails. There’s rustling, and then— “Oh my god, guys, look.”

A quiet moment, then a couple gasps, then cooing.

“Aww, it’s their little honeymoon, how sweet.”

Lance tries not to smile despite his fluttering, hummingbird heart. Instead, he curls closer into Keith and the fresh smell of his hair and that sweater's softness.

All he’d need is a cigarette and it’d feel like home.

Keith wonders what would be the best time to kiss Lance.

He’d spent too long fighting himself over whether these feelings were infatuation or just desperation for touch, for _affection_. But nothing, or more like no one, can compare to the comfort he feels from his partner in particular.

When his cheeks were sad and wet again, and he aimlessly strolled back down the castle halls, he found that the light outside Lance’s bedroom door was still glowing blue— he was awake.

And one thing led to another. Keith walked in, found Lance seated at his desk and writing away at notes from yet another ancient book about whatever the boy deems relevant. From alien trivia to war tactics to strange cultural customs to— you get it.

Lance is average in most foreign subjects like that, it seems. But it’s enough, it always is.

They talked for a while as Lance remained in his chair and Keith took a seat on the edge of the bed. Lance finally set down his book and his reading glasses, rubbed at the small imprints they left on his nose, then crawled onto the bed and patted the space beside him expectantly.

So, Keith climbed in next to him of course— oh, and shrugged off his jacket. He tossed it aside and lowered himself back down.

Lance’s hand lifted into the space between them, reaching out through a blank stare and it was almost like… like he was going to touch Keith’s cheek. And he was hopeful, very much so, enough to lean forward and find out that was the purpose anyway.

But Lance kept moving and instead of a mission to only warm Keith’s dried cheeks, he’d done the same deed for his lips too. They pressed together reverently and slid and dipped and curled to wherever their pleasure took them—

and maybe it was fast but they didn’t have it in them to wait for formalities aside from _“Is this okay?”_ and _“I’m gonna—“_ and _“Yeah.”_

“Just this,” Lance says with his chest heaving and bare but all that’s below stays clothed and modest. Keith had kissed the boy’s lips to the point where it felt unfair for the rest of his skin not to be adored too.

He nods wordlessly and tucks his bangs back as he rests on the weight of his other elbow. He feels shivers wash across his exposed back from dull nails raking down their plains with just enough pressure to know it’s meant to be considerate, loving.

He dips forward, _god_ , already loves the movement and prays it’s one he better get used to, and kisses Lance once again. Lance lays back to patiently lift back all of Keith’s pushes like a lifering bobbing in the water of a mellow lake under the afternoon sun. Like they’ve got all the time in the world, even for smiling in between. 

Touch is everything, he caves and tenses and cuddles closer even when that smooth palm roams over patches of skin it already felt seconds before. Lance chuckles at the sight of him preening under it while his hair is combed through and scalp scratched just wonderfully.

He seriously can’t help spending another reaction because now every kiss is payment for Lance unknowingly washing away his need for cold, wet palms late at night.

For a number of reasons, the great vastness of space just became a little less lonely.

**Author's Note:**

> exclusive fics on [my instagram](https://instagram.com/arcadevia?igshid=1bqu2rmbht9gq)


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